Busted
by foxeye10
Summary: On a murder case in Bristol the Doctor and the Detective end up in a familiar pink house


This little ficlet was thought up just this afternoon when my friend suggested I write a Sherlock story. I texted back saying I would if only I could come up with a good idea... the moment I sent the text this story popped into my head and I ended up writing it in about half an hour!

Not really much of a plot here, just a humorous What If - set just after the start of the first series of Being Human.

FangyFace I hope it lives up to your expectations!

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"Hm."

John Watson watched the detective's eyes narrow, slim fingers steepled at his lips. Then the man stated, without a modem of doubt,

"Vampire."

Mitchell spluttered under the weight of the sociopath's gaze but before he could form a coherent response, Sherlock had already swivelled with deceptive speed to face George.

"Werewolf."

And without a pause he raised his hand, finger pointed directly at where Annie was perched on the arm of the couch.

"And ghost. Obvious really when you think about it. Why do people never bother to_ think_?"

John sighed, reaching up to steer Sherlock away from the house he had tricked his way into.

"Sorry about this, Sherlock seems to have picked totally the wrong time to develop a sense of humour."

Without looking at the smaller man, Sherlock Holmes shrugged off his hands and tutted in irritation. "I'm not joking John. It's perfectly apparent what these beings are.

The army doctor rolled his eyes but paused when he noticed how tense the other two occupants of the room looked. He may not have been as intelligent as his companion but he could tell the difference between 'who the hell is this crazy man we just let into are home' shock and 'how the hell did he figure us out' shock.

George watched the consulting detective like a wolf watches a rabbit (pun intended) but inside his head all that was computing was _shitshitshitshitshit._

Mitchell's thoughts were somewhat darker _I'll go for the smaller one first_ _they can't be allowed to tell anyone they just can't._

Annie was having trouble focusing on the situation. _Sherlock? What the hell kind of stupid name is that?_

Sherlock seemed to be unaware of the internal commotion he was causing. With a graceful wave of the hand the sociopath began lecturing.

"The vampire was the most obvious, no reflection in the television screen, I'd have thought even you would have noticed that John. Although I must admit I have the slight advantage of having encountered such beings before. As for the werewolf, the glasses on the counter clearly belong to him, as evidenced partly by the slight dent on the bridge of the nose. Partly by the fact that Mr. Mitchell here would never be seen wearing glasses that are so unflattering to any wearer."

At this point George weakly attempted to protest before John wearily shook his head, "It's easier just to let him finish."

As if there had been no attempted interruption Sherlock continued, "Before we entered you were watching the TV," he spun and gestured, "whilst filling out this Sudoku book. Using both long and short vision and yet no need for your glasses? And wearing no contacts? Coupled with the full moon being due in two days and all the evidence is right before your eyes if you only bother to look. Furthermore, if you still need more proof, there are scratches on the wall, partly hidden by the armchair but still perfectly visible if one would only bother to look. The marks are evident of a large canine, and judging by the depth I'd say going on for two metres in length, which is odd as you don't seem to have any pets."

He took a long breath, rubbing his hands with childish glee. "And as the icing on the cake, our ghost. Three cups of tea? With only two men in the house? Not exactly subtle, I'm sure even Anderson could have spotted that. Though probably not. And she is sitting just there going by the pile of crumbs on the floor. Ghosts don't need to eat but old habits die hard so you take a biscuit anyways and crumble it in nervousness when a stranger bursts into your home. Female obviously, judging by the feminine touches, a hair clip on the table here and a copy of Vogue here. Probably killed on this cracked flagstone, ghosts tend to hang around the place of demise."

John Watson took a slow breath, "So these…people? They're our murderers then?"

Sherlock gave him a look a teacher would reserve for the child who adds one and one and ends up with strawberry.

"John. Our killer was obviously the daughter-in-law. Please try to keep up."

He turned to the stunned housemates, "Good-day" and strode briskly from the house, followed by a bemused and befuddled doctor.

Annie was the first to break the silence that followed. "What the hell just happened?!"

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Hope you enjoyed!


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